


Botched

by erihan



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Execution au, It starts off pretty dreary, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-07-29 12:04:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7683910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erihan/pseuds/erihan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the crowd calls for the Strike Commander's head, the U.N. try to compromise and fail, Overwatch and Gabriel Reyes watch Jack Morrison die on the television screen. Time moves on, Overwatch falls and Reaper rises, till an explosion at a supposed U.N. storehouse building unleashes a carefully hidden weapon. One that goes by 76 and is convinced his whole world ended years ago.<br/>Hiatus</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is based on some asks I threw at Visor76 on tumblr, and then a drabble why-the-hell-did-i-make-this did set in the au. The characterization might be a little rough, but I hope you enjoy it.

It started when they called for his head, unrest spreading throughout the world and spearheaded by politicians eager to give the people a scapegoat that wasn’t them. With so much pressure on them the United Nations had to do something or else loose the respect of the people entirely, but for once they came through with a compromise. A very public arrest, a popular replacement for his position, and monitored captivity till the public can be calmed. It was for the best they said, things will blow over and you can go back to Overwatch even if you won’t have your old position. And he believed them even if the rest of his friends didn’t.

Surprisingly Lena was the one to object the most desperately, going on about how ‘something isn’t right’ and how it gave her a bad feeling she couldn’t explain. Mei and Genji expressed similar distrust at the situation, but they seemed to recognize there was nothing they could do to persuade him. It seemed everyone wasn’t exactly happy with it, but the only one who didn’t voice any concern was Reyes, who saw him off with a reassuringly confident, ‘you’ll be back before we know it’, and a pat on the shoulder, perhaps for both of their benefits.

Strike Commander John “Jack” Morrison willingly went into the U.N. building designated as the place he would be waiting it out the storm unknowing that he would never leave it. At first it was as agreed, he was allowed to go to the on-site gym once a day and was given three meals a day from the employee cafeteria, and even a call to certain approved people once a week. With the constant monitoring and surprisingly large amount of doctor checkups it wasn’t perfect, but considering the alternative he couldn’t really complain…

Except for two things. Some of his guards were strange, one even mentioning how happy he was to be able to hear good old English after hearing nothing but French for a while and patting his shoulder out of the blue. A few of the others also treated him with cold indifference, it was almost the opposite of when he had first arrived, the guards that had treated him courteously were slowly being replaced with ones that were obviously mocking him. It tied into the second thing, Jack wasn’t allowed access to any source of news or information about the state of the outside world aside from his selective phone calls. It was obvious they were trying to keep him in the dark about something, but he didn’t have enough information to properly guess what it was. 

It was two months in when things started going bad, early on was a series of unusually tense conversation with Reyes explaining that not only had the base where Mei had gone stopped transmitting data, then something had happened to McCree, it was obvious his best friend was incredibly stressed…but it was incredibly frustrating that he wasn’t allowed to have any ‘sensitive’ information. Then the restrictions came, he was no longer allowed to eat with the others, then he was confined to his room for most of the time…finally they stopped letting him make his calls after a final one to his mother. 

Jack had told her things were going to be okay.  
One week later the verdict was revealed, the official spoke with the barbed politeness of a politician used to the game. He claimed they had done all they could for the former Strike Commander replacing him with a more popular strike commander, keeping him out of public eye, and even ramping up less important but good publicity missions overall. However, it was all for nothing. The execution date was set for a mere month and a half in the future, to appease the masses it would be televised, though at a distance to not get most of the mess on film. Children were going to be watching after all. 

Jack was allowed final calls at least, Lena once again insisting that something wasn’t right with the whole situation, the other calls weren’t any easier, but the hardest two he saved for last. There was so many things he had wanted to say, apologies and a confession that would only bring pain, the conversation was already hard enough so he had to keep that pain to himself. 

“This whole thing is bullshit, they’re just using you as a scapegoat to cover their asses!”

“There’s nothing that can be done at this point Gabe, don’t do anything stupid.”

There was a mumble of ‘too late for that’, but Jack couldn’t quite catch what was said, he still had to call his family, so he ended the conversation with what he felt best said all he wished he could. 

“Looks like I’m going on ahead, don’t join me too soon okay?”

“Jack-“

He hung up right then, tears threatening to spill over, but those would be for his family, it was a promise he made with himself. And then after that, all that was left was the long wait, and the mile.

Jack Morrison was to die on a breezy sunny afternoon, not at sunset like he wished due to film equipment limitations, the guards leading him down were ones he had requested from the first shifts. He stood proud and tall, keeping the terrible sadness and anxiety from his face, this would be something to remember if they decided to look for blood again. The supposed mobs screaming for blood would get it, but he would go down as the noble Strike Commander he had strove to be, not some craven cringing with guilt. At least it wasn’t someone else, wasn’t Gabe, he was satisfied that the position he never wanted had at least accomplished that. And his final words reflected that underneath its public speech veneer and slow consideration for phrasing. 

“I am, and I was truly happy and proud to be able to serve with everyone, please don’t let this discourage you. Overwatch will live on, heroes cannot lose faith because they lose one commander, the world still needs heroes. I’m going on ahead now, make sure to give me a nice long wait.”

The official gave him one last reassuring pat on the back, sighing at his refusal of a blindfold before stepping ahead to give the official speech. A steady row of guns leveled right at him, his pulse pounding in his ears, the call was given out loud and clear. 

Former Strike Commander John “Jack” Morrison had a strange smile on his face as the shots rang out, dropping like a broken doll.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday to Visor76

Jack fucking hung up on him, stubborn idiot was probably trying to bear everything by himself. They had only a short time before the execution date, all missions have been frozen and all agents recalled to ensure no attempts would be made to halt or otherwise interfere with the explicit implication that any who did would be next on the block. Gabe hated the stupid bastard they puppet they put in charge, the man was both spineless and incredibly full of himself, lording his new status over everyone when he never even saw a single battle from anything other than the television. 

Gabe didn’t hate the former Strike Commander, he had been jealous at first with all the time and effort he spent working towards the position, but he had eventually figured out that it wasn’t a position his best friend wanted. And now it was one he would never want either, if it was just a role they threw anyone they felt would be a good puppet and scapegoat into then he couldn’t trust the U.N. either. The United Nations was rotten, Blackwatch was rotten, and Overwatch was nothing more than shiny toys that didn’t realize that they were being used to distract the masses. There was only one place he could turn to help him tear the rotten roots out, but even they couldn’t act in time to save Jack.

The anger and despair over the situation came to a head on the execution day, the bastards had the gall to live broadcast it and give the orders they all had to watch or else. Gabe watched as the last words were given, only hoping wherever he was Jesse wouldn’t have to see this, hell he wanted to wring that guys neck for making Ana bring Fareeha with her to the viewing. “Don’t look”, he heard her say, Lena had her face buried in Winston’s chest, Angela was crying quietly, and that smug bastard that was given the position of Strike Commander had fucking popcorn of all things. He didn’t look away when it finally happened, he watched Jack Morrison die with something like relief on his face, of course that idiot would be relieved it wasn’t anyone else up there. The feed cuts to some reporter stating exactly what everyone saw after they had one of Overwatch’s own doctors confirm the kill. Gabriel couldn’t be more glad they were finally released to go, he didn’t have the energy to comfort anyone else, not even Ana’s gentle hand at his shoulder stopped him from storming into the gym and working his rage out. 

Two years and he couldn’t wait for his plans to come to fruition. Jesse was gone who knows where, Jack and Ana were dead, and the Shimada kid had gone off somewhere to deal with his own existence. There were still some he would make sure wouldn’t be in the base, he wasn’t cruel enough to let Fareeha or the others die for his plans. The day was set, the particulars were in place, all he had to do was let it happen. 

It was a sunny day, he made sure to send everyone he could out on inconsequential missions, and the others otherwise off base. It took a lot longer than he expected, but there was still time. There was only one way out of the meeting room, it wasn’t anywhere near his full list, but at least that stupid puppet commander would burn with the rest of this place. Overwatch would burn, Blackwatch’s rotten roots would be exposed to light, and the United Nations hand it in all would be buried deep to give them a sense of safety. Every bit of his plan was accounted for, except for Talon deciding to set off the explosion early. Gabriel Reyes burned, his last conscious thought was how he’s going to apologize to Jack for joining him so soon.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was playing Sharnoth and got through several heart wrenching chapters and to the home stretch of endgame...it put me in just the right mood to finally finish this chapter.

Its been two months since he “died”, two months since hes been confined in this dark secluded place far from the outside world. Sometimes they tried to break him, sometimes they wanted information, but it always had the same result. He would not give in, they took his life, with it his family and friends. “Jack”, if a dead man like him even had the right to keep his name, hated them with the same deep fierceness as that locked away feeling that could never reach the person he felt it towards. Reyes, no Gabriel, had warned him things weren’t right. And he himself had tried to stop the cracks from spreading their way through the whole organization, but with his assumptions of the originators wrong it all amounted to nothing…no, not nothing. He at least was able to seal off a few parts of the foundation, there were those who could not be bought, those that would continue to spread hope in the world despite the fact that he was not there with them anymore. 

They always seemed to come just when his thoughts started to veer into dangerous territory, those men who called themselves torturers yet had broken their normal human knuckles on his jaw. It hadn’t even been a decent punch, the taller of the two lacked skill while the shorter lacked strength. “Jack” had wanted to mock them that first day, the tall man who tried to be a brute but didn’t know how to deal with his stronger body meant to fight omnics, the shorter man who tried to go for finesse but had accidentally slice an artery more than ones due to nerves. They were just the first wave, pitiful newbies that were used to test the waters of his pain resistance, though they had been useful in a way. Apparently by permission that first day, they had told him the U.N. still wanted his services, and then the taller man had punched him. 

Today, he was thinking of a new name, he couldn’t keep using the name he had died with, it would be foolish to hold onto the feelings and behavior that had been the material of the Strike Commander. He couldn’t go back to being a simple farmer boy or even a trainee anymore either, but he would not do as they wished either. “Soldier” was what they wanted from him, a tool that would obey orders and get the job done in the most efficient way possible. Though perhaps it would be more accurate to say that it wasn’t the U.N. but rather the ones who were the real power behind the United Nations, the ones who slowly formed after the disaster that was the second world war. 

It wasn’t something he wanted, even if they said it was for the good of the world he refused to believe that people who would so openly lie and tarnish his reputation in the eyes of those he sought to save. Which was why he had been so obedient the past couple months, even if they blindfolded him on the way to training rooms or the checkups, even if they put strong earmuffs over his ears, he could at least find his way to either. It would take more than simple misdirection techniques to make him lose his way, and recently they hadn’t even used the heavy duty cuffs. All he has to do is wait for the guards to slip up, a stop to chat with a friend, a stumble, a yawn…anything would do. “Jack” just needed time to snap the thin cuffs and throw the earmuffs off, ideally the blindfold too, but he wouldn’t necessarily need it. 

He had the entire escape planned, even what he would do after it, it would be a simple matter to give himself a new name and help whenever possible from the shadows. That way, there wouldn’t be any need to bring the dead back to life and he would be free to look into the cracks more easily. However, two things he didn’t account for happened; first was the fact that they had been expecting his escape, and second was the small can of tear gas thrown at his feet being hit by shots from an inexperienced guard. There was a loud sound and a deep bite of pain in his face that dropped him, his vision was full of red and blood was filling his mouth. It was almost a relief when they shot him full of tranquilizers. 

The higher ups were mad of course, but they weren’t the people that guard truly answered too, they were nothing but arrogance pigs dressed as men glutting themselves on what they thought was real power. Their society had no use for them other than convenient cover, he had done his job to damage their little pet project that had once been the proud Strike Commander. Now all that was left was for the second half of their plans, the shutting of the steel trap that would spell the end of the annoyance that was Overwatch. It didn’t matter if this hidden side of the United Nations already decided they would execute him for what he did, the guard had done his part well, their little pet project wouldn’t operate as well with only one eye. For that reason, he was smiling as he stepped into the mockery they called a trial.

They were able to remove most of the shrapnel, but…deep rifts marred his face, one biting into his lips and giving the look of a permanent snarl, the other passing over a clouded blue eye that no long saw anything within its gaze. It had taken a while for them to heal properly even with the advanced medical facilities available, that was simply because of their location. As a punishment “Jack” was locked up in even deeper confinement, food reduced to tasteless mush that carried the nutrients he needed and water to wash it down. The punishment was true isolation aside from the doctor that had to check on his healing injuries, “Jack” suspected that they could have fixed everything but the eye…but of course they wanted it as a reminder. 

It was a long time in the quiet cell where only half the light reached his senses, but finally someone came. Some of the higher ups with Cheshire grins and a grunt carrying a holo screen. 

“We have some news for you Commander Morrison…or perhaps just Jack Morrison would be more accurate.” There was a chorus of cold laughter, it didn’t mean anything to him, but he was interested in the news. The grunt turned on the screen to reveal a security camera feed from the Swiss base, the grins grew wider at his evident confusion.

“Johnson, that’s the wrong recording you incompetent swine.” 

It switched, and at first he couldn’t see any difference aside from the fact that it appeared to be a news feed, but then it started with a low rumble…the sound grew and the screen shook and then everything was swallowed up in the explosion. And just like that he was Jack Morrison again screaming denial as emotionless reporters proclaimed just about everyone he cared about had died. They sedated him to prevent the loss of a precious asset, but they already had what they wanted. It was a wolf who woke up instead of the former Strike Commander, and he was just biding his till he could sink his teeth into their throats.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late and sub par in quality, i got kind of lazy and apathetic...but coming up will be a little bit of winston and perhaps others encounters with soldier 76

He was known as Reaper now, and he worked for who he pleased, Overwatch and Jack now distant memories over a decade lost. Today just as before and just as it would be as long as it was convenient, was Talon. A simple mission to blow up some storage or something, it didn’t matter, the only reason they wanted him on it was the particulars. 

First, the charges needed to be set at a very particular place without informing the guards on patrol.  
Second, kill only the ten or so men listed in the file, normal guards and anyone escaping were to be ignored.  
The final thing that was a different than normal were the strict instructions to avoid a certain area, with a huge pay dock if it was disobeyed. 

It was almost pathetically easy, no one there had the capability to stop him, to make matters worse a few of his targets were just lying in the hallway unconscious. Despite his nickname Reaper didn’t necessarily like to kill, and almost executions like this were even less appreciated. It didn’t take too long at all, but it still gave him a faint sense of unease to know that there was someone else walking around that had knocked out some of the staff. It was also a bit disturbing that the United Nation would have a facility like this hidden from the general populous with its purpose not exactly clear. Not that it mattered with the explosion that rattled the foundation not too much later, the place wasn’t entirely destroyed, but there would no doubt be investigations. There would be some amusement in seeing just how they decided to cover, especially if Sombra decided to mess with the broadcasts a bit. Distantly as he was leaving there seemed to be someone with white hair cautiously slinking off towards the city, but there were the rules in order to get his money, he had his targets taken out already so he simply went on his way.

 

Jack had been in that place for a long time, though if it was months or even years he could not say, the only way he knew time passed was the entrance of visitors. Each time they brought him either sustenance, training, or pain, the tasteless gruel and water were the only things he could look forward to, the training was almost pointless in that they didn’t even let him break a sweat. The only good thing about it was the visor, clearly Winston’s tech, it compensates for the lost eye for the most part. Filling his brain with the red simulation of what he would have seen had that tear gas canister not exploded by accident. The pain wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be, or rather nothing could compare to the program, but it still wasn’t pleasant to listen to them slicing into him trying to get a reaction other than quiet apathy. The empty days just blended together so that he was really starting to question if they actually had any use for him or if everything was for nothing. 

And then suddenly everything changed, it was during the middle of training; the whole building rocked with the force of what had to be an explosion. He didn’t give the handler’s time to react, let alone remove the visor, both were knocked out and he ran. There would probably only be one chance to get out, if Jack hesitated he knew they would throw him in some other hiding place or kill him as a liability. So he went as quickly as he could, the blaster in his hands only had rubber bullets, but it was enough for the few staff members he happened upon. The first glimpse of sunshine he had in years was the setting sun, as much as he wanted to breath in deeply and enjoy the fresh air, it wasn’t an option. There were guards and panicked personnel everywhere, he abandons the blaster in favor of being unburdened. One last person to knock out and he has the clothes he needs to slip out into the night and freedom, into a world he is almost afraid to see changed. 

John Doe a convenient name for a ghost, those he did give it to knew better than to ask him questions. As much as he wanted to go out and get his revenge right away, there was so much to do, information to gather and supplies to secure. His first safe houses were abandoned scummy places that he didn’t dare spend more than a night in, and his first set of gear was all grabbed from looting some of myriad punks that acted like they owned the streets. From the shabbiest hole in the wall bars he heard the true result of the explosion, the only ones unaccounted for were some higher ups and Gabriel. As much as he wanted to feel joy at the fact that so many of his former friends and comrades are still active…it felt like his heart had turned to stone since the day he thought they died and it could not be thawed. It went on for years, gathering supplies and establishing himself slowly, moving on when there wasn’t anything useful…

It wasn’t till a small town held in the grasp of a gang known as Los Muertos that he decided he was ready; the media had given him a name; Soldier 76. For the jacket he had found in a long abandoned Overwatch base, it seemed like no one had been there in years, old clothing he left for when they had to come back slightly musty. The jacket had been a thing with Gabe, seventy-six participants in the program…and only a handful survived. He had supplies, scrounged from old bases and back alley technology suppliers, though the gleaming new visor on his face was evidence at least one of his old friends had realized his identity. Though he was now a vigilante instead of a soldier or puppet hero, the mission was the same; the world needed people to look after it and until there was peace he would remain a ghost unable to rest.


End file.
